The Art of Escapism
by Tonkswyrda
Summary: Facing the first full moon after Siris' death with no wolfsbane, no plan and only wanting to escape might not be Remus' best idea yet. Haunting nightmares are only making things worse, and Remus is finding it hard to cope.


In the nights leading up to the first full moon after Sirius died, Remus had the worst nightmares he'd had in fourteen years. They were all about her. And every night, he woke up with her name on his lips, letting it out in a strangled yell.

He hadn't taken any wolfs bane either. He hadn't even attempted to find or make any. He knew his transformation was going to hurt like hell, but he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion that meant he wouldn't remember, he wouldn't feel, and as a person he would cease to be.

Of course, none of these facts reached the ears of Nymphadora Tonks, who would have gone ballistic had she known. No, he just told her he didn't want her with him, and she nodded, kissing him gently before leaving him alone, waiting for the moon to rise. She too became quiet around the full moon, but he knew it was out of worry for him. And to be fair, this month she was right to worry; he hadn't transformed fully in so long he'd almost forgotten what he was capable of doing. He didn't have any kind of plan; he had no idea where he was going to transform, and it wasn't until the few hours before that he even began worrying about being far away from any kind of human civilization, something that would gnaw at his stomach for days on end usually.

He just found himself not caring, not even as the moon rose, and he was alone and cold and vulnerable in the middle of a forest, he didn't care about the pain, he just wanted to escape.

In retrospect, this was probably the stupidest idea he'd ever had. And he'd had some truly idiotic ones.

He had ended up back where he started- his clothes, once neatly folded, were now sprawled across the small clearing. He had fresh scratches to add to his collection and could hardly walk- every muscle and joint seemed to scream in agony as he pulled himself upright.

It took a moment for him to realize his hair was obscuring his vision because it was plastered to his face with blood.

He was covered in it. And even worse, there were huge stains and splatters of it on his clothes as well. He dreaded to think what-or whose- it was.

Heart pounding, and cursing his own stupidity, he shrugged his clothes back on, steadying himself for long enough to apparate back to his depressing cottage. He was all set to yell at himself, to throw a king sized tantrum- not that he needed the extra abuse- but was stopped by a small figure curled under a thick woolen blanket, asleep on the couch.

She had come, even though he'd asked her not to, because of course she hadn't known that he would be uncontrollable, wild and ready to rip her throat out. She wanted to be there for him. She did that, directly disobeyed him.

Falling to his knees next to her, he thanked every god he could think of, old and new, for making him leave the house.

His nightmares flashed before his eyes as he swept a stray strand of hair from her face with a bloody hand.

She was always so innocent in his dreams. As he moved out of the shadows, fully transformed, he could see her eyes widen with fear, and with his sharpened senses he heard her sudden intake of breath as she realized that he was not safe tonight. But when he surged forward, shredding her soft skin in seconds, giving her no time to even attempt to defend herself, she didn't fight back. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked down at her ruined and bloody chest, reduced to a piece of raw, bloody meat. Quietly, sadly, she said his name. As he moved forward to finish her, to rip her apart, she screamed, but it was half mixed with a sob that wasn't for her.

He half choked out her name, haunted by the image of her dying at his own hand. But she's not dead. She's asleep, on his couch, perfect in the early morning light that filters through the blinds. Her eyes move under her lids before fluttering open, and he realizes she must have heard him.

She takes in his bloody appearance before sighing. She's disappointed in him, and that kills him inside.

Sliding her feet out from under the blanket and perching on the edge of the couch, she examines the damage closer. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm perfectly capable, you know." He protests. She raises an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed, so he allows her to lead him to the bathroom, run a bath and put his clothes in the wash. Really, in all honestly, she takes better care of him than he does.

Sitting in the hot water, he stares at anything that isn't her, and takes to watching the blood swirl and mix with the water surrounding him. They sit in silence, until she quietly says "You should have told me that you couldn't get any wolfs bane. I would have made you some."

How noble of her, to assume he suffered in silence when he couldn't find any. His only response is to shrug, instead of telling her that he hadn't even tried to find some.

"The blood…" Her voice is quiet, hesitant, and he knows she's unsure whether she will like the answer.

"It's animal." He says firmly. He knows it is; over the years, he's learnt the difference in smell and taste, so used to biting and scratching his own limbs, and waking up with a mouthful of his own blood.

"Alright." But there's still a trace of hesitance in her voice, and for some reason, it agitates him more than it should. Angrily, he tears the cloth she's been scrubbing the crusted blood off with out of her hands, letting it splash into the water in front of him.

"Well do you mind?" He snaps. She doesn't say anything, standing, before placing a fluffy towel on the ground next to him.

"Sorry." She mutters softly, before closing the door quietly behind her.

Angry with himself, he puts his head in his hands, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He knows she cares; but sometimes he thinks she shouldn't.

Sometimes-times like now- he wishes he felt differently about her. He wishes he felt indifferent. He wishes he didn't love her.

It would make telling her to leave him alone so much easier.

They're too different, really. And he knows it won't work out. What could she get out of a relationship with a werewolf? If she's lucky, she'll end up pale and cold, on an equally cold metal table, completely and utterly dead. And if she's unlucky… she'll end up with his condition.

Sometimes Remus thinks the world would be a better place if Fenrir had just killed him, ripped his throat out, when he was five years old.

At least that way he wouldn't be around to break her heart, like he knew he would have to if he was going to do anything to keep her safe, not to mention alive.

He dressed in fresh clothes, but he didn't feel any cleaner. She was sitting at his kitchen table, quietly fiddling with a hole in the tablecloth. When he walked in, she gave a quick smile before pushing a steaming mug of what he guessed was tea towards him.

He didn't touch it.

"We have to stop doing this."

She gave him a hard look, and he knew that she knew what he meant. However, she chose to ignore it.

"So you don't want me to come over after your transformations then?"

"You know what I mean. This. Us. It has to end."

She looked away silently, but her hands on the table were clenched into shaking fists.

"I think you should leave."

"Why?"

The fierceness in her voice surprised him.

"I've told you before." He turned away, facing the sink. A loud scraping announced she was on her feet.

"So tell me again."

He turned to face her. She looked so small and alone on the other side of the room.

"I've told you plenty of times, Nymphadora. I am too old, too poor, and too dangerous for you."

Something like recognition, or understanding, passed over her face. "You've been having nightmares again. Oh Remus-" she took an involuntary step forward before stopping herself. "You wouldn't hurt me. I won't let you. I don't come when you're not safe-"

"You came last night."

"You weren't here! AND you didn't tell me you hadn't taken any wolfs bane."

"You shouldn't come near me anyway, potion or none."

"You're being stupid. Remus, please-"

"NO. For once, I'm doing the right thing. I'm not doing it because I'm selfish; I'm doing it because it's best for you. Can't you see? I'm trying to save you!"

"From what?"

"FROM ME!"

She was silent, and he could see her attempting to pull herself together, and suddenly the guilt crashed down as he realized she would go home and cry, probably for hours, but she was refusing to do so in front of him.

"Well." She said eventually. "You're the first person to break up with me because I'm too good for you. Apologies." She sighed. "I'd say see you round, but obviously you want nothing to do with me, so I'll try and keep out of your way."

"Dora… I didn't mean… we can still be friends." She visibly flinched. "I'm just trying to keep you safe."

She shook her head. "Right. Me. Safe. Well excuse me while I go to work to duel death eaters, where I could lose my life 365 days of the year. Not 12. But you're totally right, I'll be much safer alone and unattached, with no reason to try and come home." She checked her watch. "Oh, actually is time for work. Lucky you, probably won't have to deal with me again."

"Don't say that, please. It's not like… it's not like we ever had anything. It was never going to work between us."

"We never had anything? So every time- shagging me meant nothing to you? At all?"

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant though. I thought… I thought you were different. Turns out you're just another bloke, wanting me for a quick fuck. Then dumping me when you've had enough. Whatever. Im used to it by now."

She was starting to crack, and her eyes were watering.

"Dora… I didn't-"

"Just don't, Remus. Just don't." Shaking her head, she left, slamming the door behind her.

The house was quiet. He was alone. Again. As usual. As it should be.


End file.
